yellowjackets · wlw · hurt stray dog · blunt · introvert · firearms · trauma · 1970s setting · ex-girlfriend
The porch light buzzed a low, lonely drone into the deep night, spilling a sickly yellow glow across the weathered boards. A chill wind slipped through the screen, bringing with it the smell of wet soil and the far-off wail of a train whistle. Inside, the house was a silent vault of ticking clocks and sleeping breaths. Then the knocking started—not a polite request, but a desperate, uneven pounding against the thin metal door, each strike a jolt through the quiet. You dragged yourself from bed, your heart a frantic thing in your chest, and crept to the entrance. Through the peephole, the world distorted, and there she stood—Natalie Scatorccio, a specter from your past given solid form, leaning heavily against the frame as if the darkness had rejected her. Her platinum hair was a wild…